


Unsaid

by seiden_spinner



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Implied Dorian Pavus & Cullen Rutherford, M/M, POV Dorian Pavus, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiden_spinner/pseuds/seiden_spinner
Summary: One of the times they meet in a certain border-town villa.





	Unsaid

‘I’m sorry, Kadan,’ the Iron Bull says weakly through the afterglow, almost hangdog. ‘It’s been a while–’

‘Nothing to apologize for,’ Dorian replies, nuzzling the Vashot’s cheek. ‘I understand. Besides, we still have time for another round. If you are up to it, that is.’

‘Oh, I am,’ Bull says, cheering up instantly. ‘Just give me a few minutes and I’m all yours.’

Dorian forces a smile. _All yours_. If only that were true.

He crawls out of the bed and walks up to the chair draped with his garments. He needs them to be as neat as possible when he dons them back on in some three hours. Soon – too soon – the night will fall, black as ink, and under its cover he’ll head back to Minrathous. Bull will leave in the very opposite direction.

The mage fishes out a flask of wine he brought with him from the numerous folds of fabric, hits it once, twice. The wine is good – the best, actually, of what a Tevinter magister with a name like his can afford, – yet still it fails to wash down the bitterness he can almost feel on his tongue. Three hours.

‘So, how is work?’ Dorian asks with all the nonchalance he can bring to bear as he turns to look at the Bull, stretched on the messy sheets. ‘It’s been a long while indeed. Do you have any stories to tell?’

The Vashot hums in thoughtfulness. He’s not wearing his eyepatch – an unspoken rule for when they are alone; the number of scars on his face is different from the last time Dorian had a chance to count them. A habit from the past life, the adventurous one; whenever their missions separated them, Dorian made sure to check Bull’s face for the new scars once they were reunited and chided him for not being careful. Maybe he did that on purpose, Dorian thinks, maybe he did that just to receive a halfhearted scolding from _his Kadan_.

‘There was a job near Val Foret some time ago,’ Bull finally says, bringing the mage back to the here and now. ‘Kinda lil’ thing, but a nasty one, tell you what. Figured the boys deserved some rest and fun, so we decided to drop by Val Royeaux on our way back.’ He grins. ‘Got to catch up with the boss.’

‘I haven’t heard from her in a long time,’ Dorian muses and takes another sip of wine. ‘How is she?’

‘Up to her ears both in Divine’s stuff and the Inquisition’s.’

The mage nods, ‘It explains the silence, I believe.’

‘You bet. Turned down a bunch of those pampered Orlesian bastards just to talk to me,’ the Vashot huffs. ‘She’s really tough these days, tougher than I’ve ever seen.’

‘That’s how it is, then.’

‘Aw, don’t be sad, Kadan. She’s alright. Here’s you a thing: she’s got the same haircut as you did back in the day.’

‘Does she really?’

‘Yeah. Also,’ Bull chuckles, ‘still can’t sit straight. Remember how she used to lounge on that throne? Same thing.’

‘Hah, I bet she looks glorious, sitting like that in one of those massive Orlesian dresses.’

‘She doesn’t. Wear the dresses, I mean. _‘How am I supposed to fight in all those skirts, if the need be? That thing is heavier than my sword and armour combined!’_ ’ Bull cries, mimicking Myrrah’s intonation.

‘Aah, that’s my Inquisitor,’ Dorian coos, his heart warm. ‘Still a rebel, I see.’

‘Yeah, that she is. A really tough lil’ lady.’

‘What about him?’ The mage asks after a pause. He doesn’t need to specify who he’s referring to. Bull throws him a knowing look and says, ‘Curly. Grew himself quite a golden mane. Wants to fight – badly, from what I get. All that diplomacy and niceties seem to be getting on his nerves.’

Dorian clicks his tongue.

‘What did I expect. Ever the Commander, yearning for a battlefield.’

The Vashot remains silent but the question lingers in the air like smoke, like a spell, an unsaid _Still miss him?_ I miss them both, Dorian thinks wistfully, but not nearly as much as I miss you.

Neither of them dares bringing it up: the distance, the yearning – not for a battlefield, or, at least, not for the sake of a battlefield itself but for clashing with an enemy face to face, together. This is what Minrathous does not and will not ever provide, the mage realizes. A clear battlefield, a known enemy, a comfort of having his back watched.

Not that it matters, though. By now, it’s a moot point anyway – the Imperium’s border lies between the two of them, a thin line on the map and an impregnable wall in reality, however invisible. All they are allowed is this – rare meetings in the no man’s land, strictly limited sets of minutes, trickling through fingers like sand.

Less than three hours.

‘What about you?’ Bull says when the silence gets as dense and heavy as a tombstone. ‘I hear your Lucerni are making quite a stir.’

They’re clearly on the same page, and the Vashot is offering him an escape, a distraction. Dorian takes it gratefully.

‘Hardly,’ the mage replies, squinting at the flask, now empty, and tossing it away. ‘You know how it goes in Minrathous. Sometimes I can’t help thinking this fight was lost before I even started it.’

‘That’s the perfectionist in you talking,’ Bull counters and pats the sheets by his side – another distraction, another escape. ‘C’mere.’

Dorian obliges. Once he’s in bed, Bull swings his massive arm across the mage’s shoulders, guiding his head to rest on his barrel chest.

‘How many assassination attempts on you since we last met?’ he rumbles softly against Dorian’s ear. And again, unsaid – _How many times I wasn’t around to end them all before they could as much as lay a finger on you?_

‘Hard to tell.’ A blatant, outrageous lie. ‘I lost count after the twelfth.’

‘Tell you what, Kadan, you’re doing just fine. With the Lucerni, I mean. No one tries to kill a guy a dozen times if he ain’t worth shit. Trust a merc.’

‘A story no one would ever believe,’ the mage rasps, his eyes starting to burn. ‘A Tevinter magister putting his trust in a Tal-Vashot mercenary.’

‘Well, their loss.’

No lovemaking happens after that. They lie silent and still, holding each other tight, listening to each other’s heartbeat until their time is up – an islet of calm in the raging sea, an eye of the storm.

‘So,’ Dorian says when they’re standing on the villa’s porch, the night breathing around them. He’s always been bad at bidding farewell – too haughty, too keen on keeping his facade up. He still is, but for a completely different reason. ‘Till we meet again.’

Like a silent spell, like a trail of smoke, unsaid – _Amatus_.

‘Till we meet again.’

Just like that, unsaid – _Kadan_.


End file.
